Written by

Brendan Bures

Sports Editor @BrenBures

The dam had shattered and the flood rushed through the splinters. Florida’s physicality was the culprit, battering through any and every obstacle that had appeared on their path; Florida State’s No. 1 run defense was just another blockade to run over. Fans poured out of every hole of the stadium, hoping to escape the raging Gator-infested waters coursing over the Seminoles and the ever-diminishing promise this season held.

And there, trying to repair Florida State’s season with twigs and sticks against the flood, was EJ Manuel, refusing to admit an imminent defeat. Despite everything—the four turnovers, the helmet-to-helmet hit which he described as “got hit in the head, so just kind of knocked the wind out of me” causing one to question just how bruising that hit was to his skull’s contents, the inevitable criticism FSU fans were surely to heap upon him—EJ Manuel didn’t quit, running 22 yards before diving into the end zone for a touchdown that could only be labeled as meaningless.

But to Manuel, it mattered. He wanted to fight to the very end. He wanted to seize the modicum of chance that Florida State could come back from 17 points down with two minutes left and cling to it like a toddler to his teddy bear. He wanted to win this game not for himself, but his teammates, especially his fellow seniors who stepped onto Bobby Bowden Field for the last time in their careers. He wanted to give FSU fans hope when there was none to be had.

It’s what makes Manuel frustrating, difficult, misunderstood, respected and loved by his teammates. He was portrayed as an elite quarterback early in his career, but he’s not. EJ Manuel is simply an above-average quarterback with a strong arm and a very questionable decision-maker. All of that is obscured by one clear fact—EJ Manuel, while not an elite football player, is an elite human being.

“First of all, it’s overused, but he’s like a brother to me,” kicker Dustin Hopkins said. “We will be friends for the rest of our lives. I think that is because I see the hard work he puts in, I see how bad he wants it. I see his character. I see the things he sacrifices in order to put himself in a position to be successful on the field.”

Hopkins continued: “I think his character is the most endearing quality about him, though. I just trust whatever decision he’s gonna make is gonna be the right one.”Not only is it Manuel’s most endearing quality, it’s the most endearing quality of the Seminoles during the Jimbo Fisher era. Gone is “Free Shoes University” and players cheating in Modern Popular Music (a.k.a. the easiest freshman course offered at FSU). These are great players and better people whom you not only want to succeed for fandom reason, but you root for them in the way you cheer for the tortoise to beat the hare—one’s kind of a dick, and the other deserves to win the race and in life.

Here’s the thing, though: college football isn’t a child’s bedtime story; it’s a game where if you don’t have some sanctions lingering in your program, you’re probably doing something too right. The only undefeated team in the nation other than Notre Dame is Ohio State, and they can’t even compete because their former quarterback wanted some free tats. Penn State has entered a cavernous abyss of sanctioned ineptitude which will show for the rest of the decade. And the team Florida State should be playing in the ACC Championship, Miami, won’t even compete for fear of future bowl bans.

Florida State doesn’t have that problem in the Jimbo Fisher era. Instead they embody this “yeah, but” persona where the perceived talent and expectations always exceeds the results and you want these kids to win so bad because you believe them to be genuinely great people, but you’re never confident. What is sure is that nothing is sure; everything can crumble in a second while the season could surge into a legendary one in a moment. The Seminoles are the cousin in your family who’s so bright and has all the potential, but can never catch any of the breaks or put it all together.

Nowhere is this more evident than in EJ Manuel. He is Florida State football during the past three years. There is so much good with him—so much—but you have to accept the bad with him, too. He will work harder than almost every other player on the field to prepare. He will give his all to the very end, but his limitations are self-evident. He will keep trying to gain something positive on a play when it would be smarter to throw it away and fight to live another down. It’s why he’ll do that silly spin move when the pocket is closing that usually results in a sack like it did in the 4th quarter against UF.

Good quarterbacks take what’s given to them by defenses; great quarterbacks take what they want. Against the Gators, EJ Manuel tried to exert his will over a game, and ended up overextending himself: each of his four turnovers he was trying to make a play that wasn’t there. Maybe that’s EJ Manuel’s legacy at Florida State: a great guy who tried too hard, standing to stop a flood that would surely engulf him whole.